any more about it; you had better give it up, you had indeed. Enter FOOTMAN. Foot. Your honour's cap and slippers. Sir C. Lay down my cap, and here take these shoes off. [He takes them off, and leaves them at a distance.] Indeed, my Lady Rackett, you make me ready to expire with laughing. Ha, ha! Lady R. You may laugh, but I am right notwithstanding. Sir C. How can you say so? Lady R. How can you say otherwise? Sir C. Well, now mind me, Lady Rackett, we can now talk of this in good humour; we can discuss it coolly. Lady R. So we can, and it is for that reason I venture to speak to you. Are these the ruffles I bought for you? Sir C. They are, my dear. Lady R. They are very pretty. But, indeed, you played the card wrong. Sir C. No, no, listen to me; the affair was thus: Mr. Jenkins having never a club leftLady R. Mr. Jenkins finessed the club. Sir C. [Peevishly.] How can you? Ludy R. And trumps being all out— Sir C. And we playing for the odd trickLady R. If you had minded your gameSir C. And the club being the bestLady R. If you had led your diamondSir C. Mr. Jenkins would, of course, put on a spade. Lady R. And so the odd trick was sure. Sir C. Damnation! will you let me speak? Lady R. Very well, Sir, fly out again. Sir C. Look here now; here is a pack of cards. Now you shall be convinced. Lady R. You may talk till to-morrow, I know I am right. [Walks about. Sir C. Why then, by all that's perverse, you are the most headstrong- -Can't you look here? here are the very cards. Lady R. Go on; you'll find it out at last. Sir C. Will you hold your tongue, or not? will you let me show you?-Po! it is all nonsense. [Puts up the cards.] Come, let us go to bed. [Going.] Only stay one moment. [Takes out the cards.] Now command yourself, and you shall have demonstration. Lady R. It does not signify, Sir. Your head will be clearer in the morning. I choose to go to bed. Sir C. Stay and hear me, can't you? Lady R. No; my head aches. I am tired of the subject. Sir C. Why then damn the cards. There, and there, and there. [Throwing them about the room.] You may go to bed by yourself. Confusion seize me if I stay here to be tormented a moment longer. [Putting on his shoes. Lady R. Take your own way, Sir. Sir C. Now then, I tell you once more, you are a vile woman. Lady R. Don't make me laugh again, Sir Charles. [Walks and sings. Sir C. Hell and the devil! Will you sit down quietly and let me convince you?" Lady R. I don't choose to hear any more about it. Sir C. Why then may I perish if ever-a blockhead, an idiot, I was to marry. [Walks about.] Such provoking impertinence! [She sits down.] Damnation! I am so clear in the thing. She is not worth my notice. [Sits down, turns his back, and looks uneasy.] I'll take no more pains about it. [Pauses for some time, then looks ut her.] Is it not strange, that you wont hear me? Lady R. Sir, I am very ready to hear you. Sir C. Very well then, very well; you remember how the game stood. [Draws his chair near her. Lady R. I wish you would untie my necklace, it hurts me. Sir C. Why can't you listen? Lady R. I tell you it hurts me terribly. Sir C. Death and confusion! [Moves his chair away.]-There is no bearing this. [Looks at her angrily.] It wont take a moment, if you will but listen. [Moves towards her.] Can't you see, that, by forcing the adversary's hand, Mr. Jenkins would be obliged to Lady R. [Moving her chair away from him.] Mr. Jenkins had the best club, and never a diamond left. Sir C. [Rising.] Distraction! Bedlam is not so mad. Be as wrong as you please, Madam. May I never hold four by honours, may 1 lose every thing I play for, may fortune eternally forsake me, if I endeavour to set you right again. [Exit. Enter MR. and MRS. DRUGGET, WOODLEY, and NANCY. Mrs. D. Gracious! what's the matter now? Lady R. Such another man does not exist. I did not say a word to the gentleman, and yet he has been raving about the room, and storming like a whirlwind. Drug. And about a club again! I heard it all.-Come hither, Nancy; Mr. Woodley, she is yours for life. Mrs. D. My dear, how can you be so passionate? Drug. It shall be so. Take her for life, Mr. Woodley. Wood. My whole life shall be devoted to her happiness. Drug. Mr. Woodley, I recommend my girl to your care. I shall have nothing now to think of, but my greens, and my images, and my shrubbery. Though, mercy on all married folks, say 1; for these wranglings are, I am afraid, what they must all come to. [Exeunt. САТО: A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. BY JOSEPH ADDISON. REMARKS. Envy itself is dumb, in wonder lost, And factions strive who shall applaud him most. POPE, writing to Sir W. Trumbull, has well applied these words of our author, (on some other occasion,) to this While Cato gives his little Senate laws, E'en when proud Cæsar, 'midst triumphal cars, eye, The world's great victor pass'd unheeded by: Our scenes precariously subsist too long Be justly warm'd with your own native rage: ACT I. 'SCENE I.-A Hall. Enter PORTIUS and MARCUS. Por. The dawn is overcast, the morning lowers, And heavily in clouds brings on the day, To form new battles, and support his crimes. Marc. Thy steady temper, Portius, Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Cæsar, In the calm lights of mild philosophy ; I'm tortur'd e'en to madness, when I think On the proud victor: every time he's nam'd Pharsalia rises to my view!--I see Th' insulting tyrant, prancing o'er the field Strew'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd in slaughter; His horses' hoofs wet with patrician blood! And mix'd with too much horror to be envied. Marc. Who knows not this? But what can nerve, And call up all thy father in thy soul :- Would be a conquest worthy Cato's son. Marc. Alas, the counsel which I cannot take, Instead of healing, but upbraids my weakness. Love is not to be reason'd down, or lost In high ambition and a thirst of greatness; 'Tis second life, that grows into the soul, Warms every vein, and beats in every pulse: I feel it here: my resolution melts Por. Behold young Juba, the Numidian When most it swells, and labours for a vent, The sense of honour, and desire of fame, Drive the big passion back into his heart. What, shall an African, shall Juba's heir, Reproach great Cato's son, and show the world A virtue wanting in a Roman soul? Marc. Portius, no more! your words leave stings behind them. Whene'er did Juba, or did Portius show Enter SEMPRONIUS. form'd Sem. Conspiracies no sooner should be Than executed. What means Portius here? I like not that cold youth. I must dissemble, And speak a language foreign to my heart. I've sounded my Numidians, man by man, And wait but the command to change their master, Sem. Believe me, Syphax, there's no time to waste; [Aside. Even while we speak, our conqueror comes on, Good morrow, Portius; let us once embrace, And gathers ground upon us every moment. Once more embrace, while yet we both are free. Alas! thou know'st not Cæsar's active soul, To-morrow, should we thus express our friend-With what a dreadful course he rushes on In vain has nature form'd Mountains and oceans to oppose his passage; He bounds o'er all; One day more ship, Each might receive a slave into his arms. Por. My father has this morning call'd together To this poor hall, his little Roman senate, Or must at length give up the world to Cæsar. Could I but call that wondrous man my father, To Marcia, whilst her father's life's in danger? Thou might'st as well court the pale, trembling vestal, When she beholds the holy flame expiring. The world has all its eyes on Cato's son; On this important hour.—I'll straight away, Ambitiously sententious. -But I wonder To Rome's first honours. If I give up Cato, Enter SYPHAX. Syph. Sempronius, all is ready; From war to war. Will set the victor thund'ring at our gates. That still would recommend thee more to Cæsar, He's lost, Sempronius; all his thoughts are full Sem. Be sure to press upon him every motive. senate Is call'd together? Gods! thou must be cautious; Cato has piercing eyes, and will discern [art. Our frauds, unless they're cover'd thick with Sem. Let me alone, good Syphax, I'll conceal My thoughts in passion ('tis the surest way ;) I'll bellow out for Rome, and for my country, And mouth at Cæsar, till I shake the senate. Your cold hypocrisy's a stale device, A worn-out trick: wouldst thou be thought in earnest, Clothe thy feign'd zeal in rage, in fire, in fury! Syph. In troth, thou'rt able to instruct gray Remember, Syphax, we must work in haste; The time is short; Cæsar comes rushing on us Enter JUBA. Juba. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone, I have observ'd of late thy looks are fallen, O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent; Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, tell me, What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in frowns, And turn thine eye thus coldly on thy prince? | To gorge the wolves and vultures of Numidia. Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my Juba. Why dost thou call my sorrows up thoughts, Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face, erous terms Against the lords and sov'reigns of the world? Dost thou not see mankind fall down before them, And own the force of their superior virtue? Syph, Gods! Where's the worth that sets these people up Above your own Numidia's tawny sons? In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome. Juba. These all are virtues of a meaner rank; Perfections that are plac'd in bones and nerves. There may'st thou see to what a godlike height The Roman virtues lift up mortal man. He's still severely bent against himself: His rigid virtue will accept of none. Syph. Believe me, prince, there's not African an That traverses our vast Numidian deserts thirst; Toils all the day, and at th' approach of night, On the first friendly bank he throws him down, Or rests his head upon a rock till morn; cern What virtues grow from ignorance and choice, Great and majestic in his griefs, like Cato? Syph. 'Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul; I think the Romans call it stoicism. lain On Afric's sands, disfigur'd with their wounds, afresh? My father's name brings tears into my eyes. Syph. Oh, that you'd profit by your father's ills! thus. [well? Alas, he's dead! but can you e'er forget The tender sorrows, And repeated blessings, Which you drew from him in your last fareThe good old king, at parting, wrung my hand (His eyes brim full of tears,) then, sighing, cried, Pr'ythee, be careful of my son!-His grief Swell'd up so high, he could not utter more. Juba. Alas! thy story melts away my soul! That best of fathers! how shall I discharge The gratitude and duty that I owe him? Syph. By laying up his counsels in your heart. Juba. His counsels bade me yield to thy direction. Syph. Alas! my prince, I'd guide you to your safety. Juba. I do believe thou wouldst but tell me how. Syph. Fly from the fate that follows Cæsar's plexion, The tincture of a skin, that I admire : |